Free Lola Montez Conquers the Spaniards by Kit Brennan Page B

was gasping. As I twisted my hair up, securing it with a comb, she dug through the wardrobe and lobbed a pair of shoes out, one at a time, hitting me sharply on the ankle, twice. My reflection in the wardrobe mirror looked like hell, but why should that have surprised me? Wracked with malaria, gagging at lopped ears? “Ready.”
    â€œSit down, Rosana.”
    I did. He pulled up another chair as Concepción hovered sternly behind him. “Time to tell you exactly what is necessary.”
    â€œA few days ago, I would have rejoiced,” I said, “but now—”
    â€œBe quiet and listen. You are, in your heart, a reckless and bold young woman. I have recognized this from the look in your eye when you hit a target. Even I, far too old for you, can elicit a sensual response—don’t bother to refute it. I envy the man you genuinely care for, if what I have experienced is only a small substitute. Either that or I pity him, since your blatant physicality seems to know no checks and balances.”
    â€œOh! That is a lie! That is rude!” I was shocked; this was not the kind of tête-à-tête I had expected. I tried to rise, but Grimaldi placed an iron grip upon my thigh as Concepción gave a little puff of contempt.
    â€œIt is time to earn your keep after all of this cosseting,” he went on. “I know you are not remotely a lady—”
    â€œOh!” I cried, and then “Aaah!” as his grip crushed my leg. I would have a bad bruise there, if I knew anything.
    â€œâ€”not remotely. I know this. Señor Hernandez is remarkably thorough. Thanks to Miss Kelly, he was able to ascertain your financial assets, such as they are. Or perhaps I should say as they were—that they were tied up with a certain member of Parliament. Hernandez dug and pried and knows your entire previous history.” A cold shudder ran through me as I prayed, Not all of it, surely? “Your court date was one fact, and itled us to consider you: Evidence of at least one man—a husband—with whom you have had sexual relations. The MP is another. Well and good. The señor’s searches took him straight to, according to the records of the chancery courts, one George Lennox, a third. Much better.”
    This was dreadful.
    â€œAnd then the señor turned up something even more interesting. He pursued all names mentioned in any way in your trial papers: A certain Mrs. Catherine Rae, in Durham, and her husband, Mr. Herbert Rae, came to his attention. Hernandez travelled to Durham; he looked up the address. He watched them. Interestingly, the married couple was quite old; they were in their mid-fifties at least. Why is that interesante? Because—and this made the señor’s mustachio quiver—they had a seven-year-old daughter. Very curious. Not many English people, with no previous offspring, will attempt such a dangerous feat. But perhaps, he thought, perhaps they were lucky, or different. Or the recipients of a baby in another manner. It happens. It happens, especially, within families. What was the connection? He did his research: The woman is the sister of your stepfather, Major Craigie in India. Close and closer. The señor studied the little girl. He contrived to meet her in a park; he returned her ball when it rolled too quickly away from her hoop. He saw a resemblance.”
    â€œ Verosímil .” Concepción nodded emphatically and began pacing.
    This couldn’t be happening, I thought. The one thing I had promised . . . And not Aunt Catherine, but myself. For the sake of—
    â€œIt was the hair and the dark blue eyes that confirmed it.”
    And then it was as if I was falling backwards, back into a terrible time: I was again at the Misses Aldridges’, during one of the long, dreary holiday periods. I was fourteen and the only girl remaining in the house. Most of the teachers had also gone; I ate with the cook and the servant. Not